


An Angel and a Snake

by ThirteenOakdown



Series: Good Omens [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Az/Crowley better become canon, M/M, bless his soul, but could be gayer, i wanted this to be wholesome, man i wish crowley had a cool title but i guess not, pretty gay, this is for terry pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 05:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirteenOakdown/pseuds/ThirteenOakdown
Summary: Crowley wakes up as a snake, and Aziraphale is very confused.Hijinks ensue.





	An Angel and a Snake

**Author's Note:**

> i stayed up till midnight editing this, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
>  
> 
> hope whoever's reading this isn't reading this at midnight.  
> If you are, go to sleep. My fic's still going to be here tomorrow.

## Song — Sucker by Jonas Brothers

Crowley awoke in his bed, feeling much shorter than usual. He looked over to Aziraphale’s side of the bed, raising a hand to rub at his eyes, then he realised; he didn’t have hands, and he was a snake: the first time in a long while, the last time being after their catastrophic meeting that ended up with the both of them stumbling out of a bar. He could hear Aziraphale in the kitchen, probably humming another song that he heard on the radio, and he felt a wave of affection for his best and oldest friend. That still didn’t solve the problem of him being a snake, however, and he didn’t like feeling short. He slid off the bed, letting his body thump against the ground, and he groaned internally. 

It was going to be a very long day.

—

Following his nose, he slithered towards the kitchen, the smell of bacon gradually getting stronger, the faint sizzling and Aziraphale’s humming growing along with it. Finally making the transition between warm wood floor to cold slate tiles, he moved into the kitchen and tugged at Aziraphale’s pyjama pant leg, and Aziraphale whirled around, brandishing a frying pan with ruffled hair and bleary eyes. Crowley was about to scoff when holy fire suddenly set the pan alit and Aziraphale’s blindingly beautiful wings flared out, and in that moment, he looked less like the soft angel Crowley knew and loved, and more like a chillingly breathtaking soldier of heaven, blazing with such empyrean fury that it took Crowley’s breath away. Aziraphale looked down, and his wings folded in with a brisk swipe, and the pan extinguished itself, and since Crowley knew him well, he was pretty darn sure that Aziraphale was…embarassed. 

He bent down, extending a hand, “Why are you a snake?”, and Crowley wound himself around it “I don’t know!” , watching the floor move further away as Aziraphale raised his hand and deposited the crimson/auburn serpent on top of the kitchen countertop, looking ridiculously out of place in such a domestic setting, surrounded by pots and Crowley’s beloved plants. The just-rising sun peeked over tops of the sandy-coloured buildings, draping the room in fiery orange, and Crowley was certain he would remember this moment forever, almost like it was preserved in amber the same shade of the sunlight filling the conjoined living room and kitchen. Aziraphale continued to fry bacon and eggs, neatly scraping them off the pan and onto a yellow plate, and he slid it towards Crowley, and without pausing, he selected another plate. This one was slightly chipped but worn, indicating frequent use, and he shuffled the pan of eggs onto the plate, still slightly steaming, and after a brief moment, he added three sausages, and picked up both plates and carried them over to the marble-topped kitchen island, quickly returning to pick Crowley and a fork up. Leaving Crowley to start eating, Aziraphale returned to the cupboards, picking up a teabag from a glass jar. A kettle whistled plaintively in the background, as if it had given up trying to draw attention to itself, and Aziraphale made a mug of tea, no milk or sugar, then paused for a second, drawing out another saucer, and poured some tea into it, adding a splash of milk and several pinches of sugar, and he carried the tea back over to the kitchen island, where Crowley appeared to be attempting to cut a sausage apart, his own rashers of bacon left unattended. Aziraphale sighed, hurrying over with the tea, and cut the sausage into smaller pieces, and left Crowley to his own devices as Aziraphale took several rashers of Crowley’s bacon. There was nothing but the sound of chewing and birds chirping, and Aziraphale was a tiny bit surprised how Crowley’s habits persisted even when he was a snake, still eating neatly, making sure nothing fell onto the table. 

Soon enough, the tea was finished, the plates were empty, (Crowley’s plate was licked clean, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin), and Crowley looked sleek and happy. Aziraphale stacked the plates and placed them in the sink, running a quick swash of water over the plates and scrubbing them, drying and returning the plates with a flick of his finger, and returned to his place at the table with another cup of still steaming tea. 

_Thanks for the breakfast, Az._

**No problem, dear.**

_Are you going to leave me at home? I mean, I don’t think there’s any mischief I could get up to without arms._

**Absolutely not! Aziraphale looked horrified at the very thought, and continued. I’m bringing you down the bookshop to give your plants much needed respite from you terrorising them.**

If it was possible for a snake to look offended, Crowley definitely looked offended. _Excuse you, I do not terrorise them, it’s called motivated coercion, angel._

**Look at us bickering** , Aziraphale said, **almost like an old married couple.**

_What a terrifying thought._

**Oi!**

—

Aziraphale walked down to his beloved bookstore, the skinny and long auburn snake looking strangely in tune with his classic beige three-piece suit, but Aziraphale had discarded the jacket for just his waistcoat, the slightly tepid weather of spring warranting a cardigan draped over his arm. As he turned the sign from “Closed” to “Open”, Crowley tugged at his sleeve, swivelling his head towards the mahogany bookshelves filled to the brim with haphazardly stacked and shelved books, some with leather covers, sun-worn and smooth with handling, and some were paperbacks with creased corners and white pages, all of them lending the bookshop a warm and homely atmosphere. As Aziraphale lightly brushed his fingertips over the crumpled and well-worn spines of the many books, Crowley left the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, curling around his wrist instead, and tapped the spine of a book called The Art Of War by Sun Tzu, _It’ll be an interesting read, angel. Please? I can’t turn the pages on my own._ **Oh very well, but you better not be getting any ideas. I don’t want Adam getting in trouble.** _Thank you, love._ Aziraphale slid the book out of its place almost reverently, bringing it back to his desk, and Crowley slid back to his place, curled around Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale opened the book, and began. “I:Laying Plans. The art of war is of vital importance to the state. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected.” Aziraphale continued reading aloud, occasionally humming or nodding in agreement whileCrowley dozed off, the humid and warm air making him sleepy, the last thing he remembered being Aziraphale kissing the top of his scaled head lightly and absently, invested in the book in front of him. 

—

Crowley was startled awake when Aziraphale shifted, standing up and hurrying to the door and attending to a customer, who was slightly surprised to notice that Aziraphale had gotten himself a snake, and also complimented the unique shade of vermilion and ginger of the snake’s scales, and Crowley had preened proudly under the customer’s gaze, all the way up until the customer had remarked that his hide would make a very nice handbag, and offered a generous sum for Crowley, to which Aziraphale’s originally benevolent and smiling face had melted into a stormy countenance, originally warm voice turned into short and choppy monosyllabic answers, obviously eager to get rid of them as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the customer seemed set on getting poor Crowley turned into a handbag, staying persistently in the bookshop and asking questions that went to places Aziraphale did not want to go, but honestly, it was like they couldn’t take a hint. Crowley settled for letting Aziraphale handle this without sending someone to Hell in ashes. Of course, Aziraphale handled this peacefully, not smiting them at all, and deposited them outside on the sidewalk, looking scared and slightly bemused, and he made sure they didn’t even think of returning to the bookstore, and Aziraphale returned to his seat, picking up the book again, with the air of someone who had just taken out the trash. He sat down again to continue his book and finish his lukewarm tea, but was interrupted by Crowley winding around the crown of his head, looking like a crude mimicry of an angel’s halo, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. _Thank you, angel, I would have bitten them if I had to put up with them any longer._ Aziraphale shook his head absently, a dismissal of Crowley’s thanks. **It’s no problem, love, they were trying to skin you, after all.**

—

The person Aziraphale had thrown out opened his phone, selected a blurred contact and pressed the foggy number, bringing the phone his ear, and before the person on the other end could reply, he started “You owe me dinner, Ligur. Still going through the domestic bliss phase.” The person on the other end sighed dramatically, and replied “Very well. The Ritz again?” The person nodded, not that the so-called Ligur could see him, and murmured a word of acknowledgement, then hung up and slipped the flip phone into the pocket of his dusty mackintosh and strollled off into the sunny saturday afternoon, whistling cheerfully and plotting his next Act of Great Evil. Something more evil than gluing coins to the sidewalk, mind you.

—

Several more customers came in to look for books, all of them unceremoniously deposited outside on the sidewalk, and thankfully, not another one commented on the uniquely brilliant shade of sanguine merlot of the snake; in fact, most of their eyes seemed to slide over the snake, who was snoozing away happily, safer than he would be anywhere else. 

The only person Aziraphale let stay in his bookshop for more than five minutes was an old man’s wife, looking for something to surprise her husband with, and Aziraphale was about to shoo her out too (What do you mean I should be nice to her cause she’s old, my boy? I’m 6000 years old! Crowley had grumbled at him to be nice before begrudgingly going back to sleep.) when she mentioned her husband worked for the International Express, and had collected several very strange things, including a sword, a set of scales and a crown (she added, he said _ **it should have been shinier**_ , and he had scrubbed at it, the tarnish thankfully melting off like grease and oil when faced with detergent.). Aziraphale had done a double take and allowed her to stay in his bookshelf, and Crowley had looked at her curiously, eyes sparkling like a gold coin, spinning in the air, a multitude of questions making themselves known. Then she had picked up Agnes Nutter’s book, and Crowley was surprised when Aziraphale let her take it without much complaint, and she had left the slow warmth of the bookshop for the rapidly cooling evening with a stunning salmon-pink sunset, looking both ways before crossing the street. Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, asking him _why didn’t you stop her?_ Aziraphale shook his head fondly, smirking, and held up another copy of Agnes’ prophecies, painstakingly copied by hand. Storing the Prophecies under his desk while waving his hand in the air to send the sign spinning from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’, the bookstore closed, and they headed upstairs. With another businesslike snap of his fingers, two glasses of Merlot appeared with a pop on the glass coffee table. 

—

The two of them were seated by the balcony that housed many of Crowley’s beloved plants, in the red sofa Aziraphale so loved to read in. Just as the sun went down, the last amber rays of warmth sinking slowly behind the aegean blue hills, with a pop, Crowley turned back into a demon with extremely ruffled hair, who then proceeded to take a gulp of the now slightly-lukewarm Merlot that was on the table, then smoothed a hand through his hair self-consciously. His eyes were a brilliant shade of flaming gold in their anger, reminding Aziraphale of a dragon’s hoard; gold and diamonds and gemstones in shining hills stretching off in either direction, as far as the eye could see. _“Wasssss it Hassssstur? I’ll make sure he dies painfully once I get my hands on him.”_ Aziraphale sighed and put a hand on Crowley’s jacket-clad shoulder and replied calmly, **“How about later, my boy?”** _“Why should I delay my ssssssssweet revenge, angel?”_ **“Because of this.”** And with that, Aziraphale snagged the collar of Crowley’s polyester black jacket and brought their lips together. It was a tiny bit awkward, as all first kisses are; Aziraphale had to crane his head upwards to reach Crowley’s lips, and Crowley was unceremoniously yanked downwards, neck at a slightly uncomfortable angle. Crowley tensed briefly under Aziraphale’s hands, which were now placed on Crowley’s waist, and Aziraphale was about to retreat, apologise and become a hermit in his room when Crowley moved from his seat on the armrest and into Aziraphale’s lap, winding his lanky legs around Aziraphale’s waist and throwing his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, never once breaking the kiss. 

********

—

********

As London began to wake up, while the bustling sound of people and cars rushing to various places made itself heard, a small pot of orange blossoms in a plant filled flat bloomed, the sweet-smelling perfume of oranges drifting their way out of the apartment, and into the city below.

********


End file.
